


Breakfast for Three

by bittersweetoranges



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Birds of a Feather Zine, Breakfast, Fluff, Gen, Semi food centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetoranges/pseuds/bittersweetoranges
Summary: Tsukishima's apartment is too small and too practically furnished for sentiment. At least that's what he likes to think.(A peaceful peek into the most important meal of the day shared with friends.)





	Breakfast for Three

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy to share my piece for ["Birds of a Feather"](https://karasunofirstyearszine.tumblr.com/), a zine dedicated to our beloved Karasuno first years. My biggest thanks to the mods who organised this zine, and also to Mod Lisa who beta'd this for me.
> 
> (In this fic is my love for food, shared meals, and quiet reflective moments. Please enjoy!)

Tsukishima has the very uncanny talent of making his room seem more spacious than in reality. Key word: _spacious_ , not taller, because Tsukishima is a tall beanpole and he can make any room seem shorter than it is (this, too, is one of his other special talents, he's quite proud to say). Really, his ability to make his mousehole of a college apartment look like it could comfortably fit a small family and then some was pretty astounding.  
It could be argued that he manages this through a combination of active apathy and interior design. Tsukishima has only what he needs placed with the most basic and functional layout in mind. That was in addition to committing to a basic color scheme of monochromatic neutrals. Solid blocks of dull—almost bureaucratic—colors ensures the least amount of attachment and affection. After all, the _last_ thing Tsukishima needs in his life is a heaping spoonful of attachment.  
  
In the wee hours of the morning Tsukishima, in his small spartan apartment, is cooking breakfast. To be more specific, he’s shaping the last of the onigiri. In front of him is a plate of finished onigiri and all its required materials (which is, to be quite frank, a lot of things). Already, there’s a healthy pile of bowls with little bits of beaten egg and tempura batter lingering in the bottom, waiting to be washed. Next to that, occupying one of his few white gleaming counters, is an uncut block of tamagoyaki cooling off besides the remains of finely chopped scallion on top of a cutting board. More still, his spotless black stove holds a warm pot of miso soup that sits just beside a rapidly cooling pot of oil. He’s no fortune teller, but he can see a lot of dish-washing in his future.  
  
Today's menu is fairly classic, and likely filling. Although he had sent a text asking his friends what they wanted in their onigiri, he’s already taken the liberty to make some tempura, tuna salad, and plain onigiri. Which is perfect, because they only replied with a ‘ _whatever floats your boat_ ’ and an ‘ _anything that's convenient for you, Tsukishima-kun_ ’.  
  
Tsukishima is not surprised.  
  
Just as he finishes that train of thought, he hears some tentative rapping on his door. It was the telltale 1-4-2 pattern that everyone has somehow picked up during their individual lifetimes. He doesn't even look up when he calls out a nonchalant, "Yeah, yeah, come in."  
  
There's some fumbling with the lock before Yamaguchi comes in, all unfathomable bright-eyed and bushy-tailed cheer. "Good morning, Tsukki!"  
  
Yachi comes in as well, bowing her head slightly as she enters. "Good morning, Tsukishima-kun.”  
  
“Good morning, you two,” he says with his practiced fervor of a loosely balled-up tissue paper.  
  
She closes the door behind her. “Did you sleep well?"  
  
Tsukishima, looking up at her from the onigiri growing progressively sticky in his hands and blatantly ignoring Yamaguchi's pointed grin, mutters an affirmative. Yamaguchi was certainly one to talk.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”  
  
“Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says, utterly unrepentant as he shares a smile with Yachi at Tsukishima’s expense.  
  
After they toe off their shoes at the gekkan, Yamaguchi flouncing into Tsukishima’s apartment with all the grace of a childhood friend and Yachi with characteristic care, they settle their school bags around the smallish second-hand round wooden table in the center of the room.  
  
"It's pretty dark in here," Yachi says as she forgoes taking a seat to instead gently pull aside the curtains to let the morning light in. The dust motes glow a pale silver in the pre-dawn light from the glass door; they swirl along the movement. "It looks like it's going to be cold today."  
  
Yamaguchi rubs at his shoulders and hums an affirmative before sinking fully onto his selected cushion, a mint gingham that Yamaguchi had lugged in one day and never took home. "I almost didn't want to wake up today, to be honest," he says as he slumps over the table. "Ah, the things I'd give to sleep in."  
  
Tsukishima doesn't see it, but he can feel Yachi's fond and knowing smile for their friend.  
  
"Don't worry Yamaguchi-kun, it's Friday today- it's almost the weekend," she says brightly. "Just one day more, and we get to catch up on sleep!"  
  
This was of course, in theory. Knowing Yamaguchi, a chronic over-sleeper with a tendency to overestimate free time, he’s more likely to catch up on other things rather than sleep. Like catching up with friends, tv dramas, previously-recorded anime, or even his peskily ambitious writing-projects. It will take years before the algorithms tracking Yamaguchi’s restful hours will deem him all caught up. However, it doesn't take rocket science to know that Yamaguchi is beaming back at Yachi like she’s the first sunrise that’s graced his darkened days. Tsukishima snickers as he finishes shaping the last tempura onigiri before he sets it on the plate with the others.  
  
"Tsukki! I heard that."  
  
"Yeah, and you also heard Yachi say you'll catch up on sleep," Tsukishima says.

He picks up the plate of onigiri and bringing it to his friends, giving him a clear view of their faces. Yachi smiling at the both of them, and Yamaguchi trying to look sad but failing miserably. Energetic people. "And that's a lie if I ever heard one," he continues.  
  
"Ah, Tsukishima-kun, it's nice to hope. You... you should try it sometime," Yachi says, looking fairly sheepish as she stumbles over her comeback. Tsukishima smirks at Yamaguchi, the point won by virtue of a roundabout agreement.  
  
“Even Yachi agrees that you’re fairly hopeless.”  
  
“Well, not entirely,” Yachi says. Then, as an afterthought, she reassures him with a pat.  
  
Yamaguchi frowns as he pushes himself off the table. "You wound me!"  
  
Tsukishima rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, now breakfast. Or this day won't ever end."  
  
They quickly get to work setting the table. Yachi cuts the tamagoyaki to serve, while Yamaguchi retrieves the ice tea from the fridge. Tsukishima pulls out the set of matching bowls that Yachi had brought for Tsukishima as a housewarming gift, and handed them to Yachi to fill with the soup.  
  
They sit around the table, adjusting the table placement as they go to accommodate everyone. Out of the three of them, it's only Yachi who has enough leg room. And with a spattering of thanks for the meal, they start eating, save for Tsukishima.  
  
Instead, he watches his friends eat the food he’s cooked over jovial chatter and crossed legs. The morning light pools and fills in the space around them in a warm orange light. The seemingly spacious studio college apartment reveals its true colors. It is small. Cramped even. There’s shelves on his walls filled with various knick-knacks and a certain plastic Stegosaurus replica. His desk and bed are pushed to the walls for space.  
  
Yamaguchi swallows a bite of his tempura onigiri. “Tsukki, eat up!”  
  
“It’s delicious,” Yachi says as she looks with starry-eyed appreciation at the warm bowl of miso soup in her hands.  
  
Tsukishima concludes, that although his current home is small, it’s comfortable. This. This is satisfactory.  
  
He wipes his mouth of phantom crumbs, then takes his first bite.


End file.
